


I Believe the Children are Our Future

by Anonymous



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Belly Kink, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mpreg, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “It’s a long way from that to ‘let’s just be queer and have a kid together.’”“Flip,” Ron said, “you’re really not seeing the big picture here.”





	I Believe the Children are Our Future

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snickfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/gifts).



> Canon-typical but mild racism and homophobia; discussion of abortion.
> 
> Happy Yuletide!

One mistake.  Fucking _shit_.

It had been a risky maneuver in every single way, too, so he should have known it would come back on him.  They’d gotten careless.  Ron did too good a job thinking on his feet, that was the problem; Flip got enough of a charge off it that he wound up saying yes to shit he should have said no to.  Which was why he’d ended up bent over the hood of Ron’s car with Ron’s dick up his ass.

At the time it had seemed worth it.  Off the side of the road up in the mountains, the cold mineral smell of the mud-splattered hood, the pale darts of headlights going by on the highway down below them.  His hand tight on himself and then Ron’s hand pushing his away and taking Flip’s dick up and bringing him off in a few fast, hard strokes.  Ron’s breath hot against his neck, one of Ron’s hands knotted-up in his hair.  The thick burn of taking cock that way, taking it like a faggot, when he’d never done it before.  Like it was Ron’s inevitable fucking destiny to always be making Flip into things.

Yeah.  He’d been hot to go along.

And now look at him.  Made into something else all over again.  Partiality, potentiality, made total.

Flip turned sideways in the mirror, pressing his palm flat against the slight new curve of his stomach.  He tried to ignore liking it.

He sold lies for a living.  There was no reason anybody had to ever know word one of this.  He’d get it taken care of.

He didn’t know why he went to Ron for half the money.  He had enough on his own.  It was a seller’s market out there, yeah, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t put together a couple hundred dollars.  He couldn’t tease out his own motivation for making a thing out of it.

But the next day, there he was on their lunch run with a paper bag of takeout burgers and fries in one hand, saying, “I need to get a hundred bucks from you.”  He figured he would make it a nice round number.  What the hell.

Ron laughed.  “Yeah?  You collecting for UNICEF?”

He fished a fry from the bottom of the bag.  “Try again.”

“Flip, I don’t want to play Twenty Questions with you or really with anybody—”

“For an abortion,” Flip said.  “Your half’s a hundred, or something like that.”

Ron sat there in the passenger seat.  Flip hadn’t started driving yet.  He noticed the takeout bag was soggy at the bottom and he was getting a grease spot on his jeans; wasn’t that a bitch.

“You’re pregnant,” Ron said.

“There’s a rule for you when we’re going off-book,” Flip said.  “Undercover or anywhere.  Murphy’s law.  Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.”  He reached for another loose fry and hit nothing but the bottom of the bag.  “Shit happens.”

“I know Murphy’s law.”

“I’d be pretty fucking worried about working with you if you didn’t.  So there you go.”

“And,” Ron said, “you want to get rid of it.”

There was something weird about the neutral tone of his voice, because Flip had heard Ron act and had heard him _not_ act and this was something else, even though Flip would have said those were the only two options.

“What, do you think I should be doing something else?”

Ron shrugged.  “If you want the money, I’ll get the money.”

“Yeah, I’m not thinking you’re so overextended that you can’t come up with the cash.  I’m asking what _you_ want.”

“We could keep it.”  The earnestness now was unmistakable.  Ditto the puppy dog eyes.

Flip said, “You want to have a fucking kid with me.  I can’t even believe you, man.  I’ve never even been to your place, we’ve never even been in an actual bed, and you think I should tank my whole career carrying this kid around for nine months and then, oh yeah, the rest of its life.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, “but think about how much it’d piss off David Duke to have some little half-black, half-Jewish, two-Ron-Stallworths gay-birthed baby running around out there in the world.”  He did a quick nobody’s-looking sweep and then reached over and put his hand on the back of Flip’s neck.  “He’d shit his pants.”

“Motherfucker,” Flip said.  He closed his eyes.  “That’s a glorious thought right there.”

So that was how they spent the night together for the first time, at Ron’s place.  They fucked when they should have been talking or maybe fucked like that counted as talking, because whatever bullshit they could push, there was something more convincing, more honest, about bodies, shades of skin and cut or uncut dick and whether or not you hit what some KKK dipshit thought you were aiming at.  It qualified as conversation, yeah, if you wanted to look at it that way.  Ron sucked Flip off and then spread him out on the bed—a water bed, so it sloshed around beneath them, grasping and pushy—and got into him with KY-coated fingers.  His other hand, also shiny with lube, resting on Flip’s belly, stroking it with his thumb.  By the time Ron finally fucked him, the skin around Flip’s navel was so slick it looked like he’d already had the ultrasound.  So he figured Ron’s point of view was pretty fucking clear.

Afterwards, Ron turned over, the bed billowing Flip in to meet him, and said, “So?”

This was the single stupidest thing they could be talking about doing.  “Do you know what happens to cops who get knocked up by other cops?”

“I know what happens to black cops,” Ron said, not giving him an inch.  “And I’d guess Jewish cops aren’t exactly bouncing around saying life’s a bowl of cherries either.  We already eat some shit every day to keep our jobs.”

“Yeah.  It’s a long way from that to ‘let’s just be queer and have a kid together.’”

“Flip,” Ron said, “you’re really not seeing the big picture here.”

“The big picture being the almighty crusade.”

“I don’t know.”  Ron turned onto his back, folding his arms up behind his head.  Which—fuck him—he knew looked good, showed off his muscles, drew him up all tight and compact.  “It’s not just that.  I was never in it for hearts and minds, you know, I just did what I wanted to do.  I always liked the thought of having a kid, too.  You believe that?  I’m loaded up with these one hundred percent American as apple pie dreams.  Wear a badge.  Have a family.  You’re not who I’d have figured I’d start one with, but shit, being a cop isn’t like how I thought it’d be either, and I’m still doing it.  Tell me you don’t think any combination of you and me would turn out right.”

“There you go,” Flip said, amused despite himself.  Agreeing despite himself.  “Appealing to my ego.”

“You know what else?” Ron said.  He was just looking at the ceiling, at the lazy circling of the fan.  “I like having done it and I like having done it to you, never mind what I expected.  I like being the dude who knocked up Flip Zimmerman.  And I like getting you naked enough to see it.”

His cock gave a futile little twitch.  He couldn’t stop thinking about Ron’s hands all over his belly, reverent, possessive.  _This_ should not be what convinced him, so he wanted to believe he’d been half-convinced from the start.  And he might have been.  Heritage and traditions.

“Fine.  But for the record, one day you’re going to have some batshit-crazy plan that I’m not gonna go along with.”

“That’s completely fair,” Ron said.

 


End file.
